Hazel, Alice, and Mr. French

I begin with my house.

Let's just say for the record that being out of the house all day at work and at school makes it a whole lot easier to keep one's house neat and orderly, not to mention squeaky clean, and free of smeary fingerprints, stray wrappers, used drinking glasses, blobs of goo in unexpected places, clogged drains and bathrooms that look and smell like Port-O-Potties.

I try to engage the kids for help.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

I find it bizarre and unnatural to get out of bed and walk away from the disheveled sheets. My children evidently did not get that gene. They got the genes that bears have. Get, up, scratch, and go eat. Worry about sleeping accommodations when it's time to hibernate.

This is something I do not feel needs to be placed on a To Do List. But my children apparently lack the basic ability to look around a room and identify situations that need to be rectified. My kids will look around a room and so long as nothing is irretrievably broken and lying in smithereens on the carpet, and nothing is actively burning (smoldering does not count), they will not be able to identify a single thing that needs to be done.  Their eyes do not see the pile of Jolly Rancher wrappers covering the end table. Or the collection of soda cans and glasses, in various stages of emptiness, crowding flat surfaces across the room. They do not see the sneakers, flip flops, boots and backpacks randomly strewn like a minefield throughout the first floor while the hooks designated for the backpacks and the space reserved for shoes without feet remain untouched by human hands. (I also don't see them and trip at least a half dozen times a week.) They draw little smiley faces in the dust on the table, never once thinking, "Hmmmmm, that shouldn't be there..." They sometimes, when feeling especially industrious, manage to transport a cereal bowl, or pizza plate, or an ice cream bowl into the kitchen, but rarely will the item be rinsed, or relieved of its uneaten contents. And it would take a chorus of angels to inspire them to place any of these things into the gaping dishwasher next to the sink where they typically have been laid to rest.

So I set up a system. I have a list of items - exactly two - for each child to accomplish each day, plus a daily task of bed making and making sure all of their possessions have found homes.

A perfect score will be worth a certain amount of allowance. Anything left undone results in a debit from the amount. Additional chores result in a bonus.

I type the list and print it in multiples. And I sit down for dinner that night and present it to my Not So Merry Maids.

Game on.